Water
by Keeper of Tomes
Summary: 51 of the 100 Challenge. DA/P- The rain oozes out of the sky. Viscous. Her hair, her skin, her lips, drenched with water that he tastes when he kisses her...


**Title: **Water**  
Songs: **Brandi Carlile, "Downpour," Second Person, "Water"**  
Author: **Keeper of Tomes**  
Summary: **51 of the 100 Challenge. DA/P- The rain oozes out of the sky. Viscous. Her hair, her skin, her lips, drenched with water that he tastes when he kisses her...**  
Words: **815**  
Pairing(s): **DA/P

I do recommend that you listen to both songs for this one-shot. Because they both rock my world...and I love them. Second Person's the best band I've ever heard. Plus I'm wandering a bit off from my sugar-high induced yuri craze to write some more about one of my favorite pairings.

Moving on. Dedication time!

To Hermonthis: It would take me volumes to list all the things that make you an amazing writer. I won't even attempt it here. So, tons of kudos for your support and friendship. It means more to me than you'll ever know.

* * *

Because some things aren't simple and others are, their meeting has no simple definition.

The drifting and the sighing of time is silenced, pushed away behind the clouds; when it rains, the mechanical clocks of the world stop and fade away, while the rolling and the rumbling of thunder takes their place. The pitter-patter of the rain. _(The beating of your heart.)_

The downpour today isn't even a true thunderstorm yet. Due to become one in several hours, for now, it's just a quiet sheet of water that drenches the world in near silence. Near silence, because the rumble of two skimmer engines breaks the quiet, as if it were more fragile than it truly is. The metal and the flesh caught drops of rain, saved then from a fiery death in the lava pits below. Steam rose, as water hit the hot rock beds of the Wastelands, floating and billowing to the tops of the sky, speedily, rapidly, _(only to dissipate just as fast.)_ Like ghosts caught in daylight.

A small and crooked terra juts out into the air, as if it doesn't belong. Like ripe strawberries placed in the snow. A piece of permanence, _(or near permanence,)_ in a malleable and inconceivable world.

The skimmers land, wings and blades retracting, folding neatly into where they belong. Like pieces of a puzzle, clicking neatly together, _(if only real life were like that.)_ And then near silence becomes true silence, _(the rain doesn't count, it's background noise.)_ The riders dismount, left feet swinging over leather seats, letting the water fill their scopes of vision, letting the world drift into peripheral being.

They meet somewhere close to the middle. But not quite. _(A bit off to the left.)_ No words are said; words ruin moments far too easily. Words! Who invented them? Curse that human. Who needs words when you've got feelings? Words. Tongues. Take them away. Take them away, and you'll take away all the lies, all the deception mankind has ever uttered. The truth need not be spoken to be the truth. It _is_, and pronouncing it with tongue will only verify what was already in existence. But lies are of our own conception, lies are created solely for our own selfish use. Once in a million blue moons, one will come across a lie that was done for good. More often than not, words, lies, they complicate things beyond necessity.

_(__But back to the terra.)_

The milky texture of her skin is taken away by the moisture of the rain. Ah, the rain.

The rain _oozes _out of the sky. Viscous. Her hair, her skin, her lips, drenched with water that he tastes when he kisses her, _(the familiar warmth of her body melting him,)_ drenched with heaven's gift to a parched earth. She is heaven's gift to him.

This was not the first stolen meeting, nor will it be the last; this was not the first joining of bodies at this wayward terra, on which they chose to capture what was lost through years of war and death. Neither are sure what their companions and commanders will think of this relationship, _(not kindly, for sure,)_ but they continue regardless. Because sometimes, in order to get what you so desperately need, what you so desperately want, you must take a risk.

They have risked their all for a few illegal moments together; they meet, they embrace, and they speak little.

He turns his ride to the north, hers to the south. They smile, and they move from lovers to enemies once more. Wondering about a constant. _(So much so that they cannot sleep.)_ Wondering about a wonder that entered both their minds when this escapade began, and will ever exit for as long as they both shall live:

Is this romance the greatest lie of all?

They will return home to friends, to rulers, to servants. They will be questioned, perhaps vigorously, perhaps casually, always curiously. And they will both resort to words and lies to wriggle out of a situation that will pull them both down into the point of no return. _(Or was that point already crossed?)_

The taste of each other still lingers on their lips, long after the water has come down and washed the feeling away.

* * *

There. Now. That was deliciously fun to write. PUH-LEEEZE REVIEW. Or else...or else I'll cry...


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